


See Me

by trascendenza



Category: As the World Turns RPF
Genre: M/M, Schmoop, Sunglasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-28
Updated: 2007-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-04 06:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trascendenza/pseuds/trascendenza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically based on that picture where they're wearing matching aviators. <em>"Those glasses make you look like an asshole.  A hot asshole, but still an asshole."</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	See Me

"Those glasses make you look like an asshole. A hot asshole, but still an asshole. Highway patrolmen kinda ruined the look for everyone else."

Jake shrugged, which brought his arm a little tighter around Van's shoulder. "At least they don't make me look like Elton John."

Van _tsk_ed, clucking his tongue. "Don't make fun of the Elton. He's done a lot of good things for our people."

Jake arched an eyebrow. "Our _people_?"

"What?" Van pushed his glasses down his noise in studied innocence. "People who like to wear large sunglasses. What did you think I meant?"

"Oh, I don't know…" Jake shut the door behind them after they'd squashed their way through the cramped entrance into the trailer. Slipping his arm off Van's shoulder, he planted his legs wide so that he and Van were at the same height, leaning back against the door and pulling Van in until they were lined up flush.

"This, maybe?" He said, an unmistakable undercurrent in his voice as he tilted his hips upwards to say hello to Van's.

"This what?" Van said, holding up one hand folded at the wrist, studiously examining his fingernails and trying not to smirk. He resisted the insistent tug of Jake's hands.

Jake grinned, like he knew Van was playing him and was too damn happy to care. Van looked at him askance and bit his lower lip, playing totally unfair—both of them knew that Jake had no power before the lip-bite-of-not-very-subtle-yet-incredibly-effective seduction.

"_This_," Jake whisper-growled, leaning forward and pressing a hard kiss into the join of Van's neck and shoulder, fingers splaying wide on Van's hips as he pulled Van in tightly, adjusting them so that their legs were interwoven like the teeth of a zipper.

"Oh, _that_," Van gasped out once his eyes had resumed their normal seat tray in the upright position. He brought his hands up, pulling at Jake's t-shirt, black fabric bunching in his hands as he desperately yanked it upwards. "Way to be obtuse, Silbermann."

Jake grinned, playing along with their favorite cat and mouse game. "Hey, I'm an asshole, remember?" He ground their hips together and then bit up Van's neck hard enough to leave marks.

"No—no—_oh_—I just said you looked like one—_fuck_—not that you had to act like one." Their shirts, wrinkled from their carelessness, landed on the floor.

"I—_whoa_—I have a reputation to maintain. No explanations. I go right ahead and just…" Jake paused, brought up a hand, cupping the back of Van's head; their noses brushed and the air between their faces was warm from their shallow exhalations. "Take what I want," he finished, crushing their lips together in what wasn't a kiss except in the most technical of terms—it was wild, their knuckles bloodless white where they gripped each other, bodies clinched knee to hip to chest.

It mouthfucking were an Olympic sport, these two would have brought home the gold without even breaking a sweat.

*

They weren't so bad at the actual fucking, either.

Jake's lanky frame took up the whole couch. Even half-bent around Van's waist, his long legs ended up braced on the cabinets to the right of the couch, feet flat down, neck and head up against the cabinets on this side. Van, in a contortionist half-kneeling, half-crouched position, was draped over him, arms on either side of Jake, head dropped down so their foreheads and noses met like reflections in a mirror.

"These stupid glasses are all steamed up," Van panted, his thrusts jerky and quick, chest heaving.

"So take them off," Jake suggested, fairly placid for a man who was getting pummeled into cheap MDF cabinets (and had a bit of ass-burn from the textured fabric on the couch, to top it off).

"You first." Van, flicking out his tongue without warning, licked the lenses of Jake's dark glasses.

"You're a real perv, Elton, you know that?"

Van threw his head back with a wild laugh, punctuating each word with an up-thrust, "You—know—you—love—it."

Jake moved his hands up from Van's ass where they'd been creating bright pink indentations, one sliding along the small of Van's back and coming to rest between shoulder blades, the other stringing in Van's hair. He levered his hips and swiftly shifted his legs together so they were crossed at the ankle, bringing the two of them nearer than should have been possible in the square feet they had available.

From the way Van's thighs were trembling and Jake's biceps flexed, maintaining it was probably more than a little physically painful. The likelihood that either of them cared was about a few hundred feet under the marker for zero.

"Yeah, well." Jake ran his thumb along the curve of Van's ear and looked right at him, dark eyes unblinking, "maybe I do." His tone wasn't so light now. And he didn't look away, like a dare.

Van's throat worked for a moment, flashes of emotion flickering on his face like ripples on a still pond, flashes of light across the surface transmuting the cool blue into sunlit shine. Reaching up, he took off their glasses, tossing them to the floor so they could see one another, unobstructed.

They were quiet except for their ragged breathing, the slide of their skin stilled as they looked at one another. The space between them was calm as air after lightning has struck and dissipated the building tension.

Van's palm found Jake's chest, held there, resting above his ribs. Silent, he leaned forward, kissing Jake softly.

And when they started moving in tandem, _really_ moving—tendons jumping, muscles clenching and straining, fingers laced tightly as their bodies, eyes wide open as they looked at each other—it was obvious that they didn't feel any pain at all.


End file.
